


Somebody come get him, he might be a bit tipsy

by D_Nova



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Humor, Jaskier is about 35-40 years, Older Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Older Jaskier | Dandelion, inspired by a song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25822132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_Nova/pseuds/D_Nova
Summary: Sometimes you need to keep up to date to attract new audience
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	Somebody come get him, he might be a bit tipsy

“And her _stockings_ ,” whispered Jaskier, sighing dreamily, “you cannot even imagine, my friend, what a man could do, what a man _would_ do to be allowed just the slightest touch, just the briefest glimpse at these lovely things." The poet slowly closed his eyes, recalling the divine sight in his mind. A look of pure bliss appeared on his face, but it vanished abruptly when the bard furrowed his brows, his eyes closed still. “Such lovely stockings, and such an _absolutely_ disagreeable lady,” Jaskier wrinkled his nose and took a big gulp of wine, as if trying to get rid of the unpleasant memory. Then he opened his piercing, strikingly blue eyes and let out a sharp hiccup. Geralt shook his head, hiding a tiny smile behind his own glass of ale, holding the man’s shoulder so that he would not fall down from his seat. The bard’s lute started to slide from his hips, but Jaskier caught its fingerboard with his free hand. One of the strings made out a melodic sound that was then muted with a calloused finger.

“You are not as young and inexperienced as you used to be, and yet, even after all these years, you still haven’t learned how to drink properly,” said the witcher, and the poet answered him with a gasp of shock and a hand smacked against his chest, over his heart, as if to demonstrate how deeply Geralt’s statement had hurt him. The lute swayed on his hips, but, miraculously, didn’t fall. 

“At least my music never ages, unlike me,” Jaskier smirked, glancing at the duke’s musicians, “or perhaps it does, but even if it is so, it ages like an _exceptionally_ good wine. Just look at them, falling over themselves trying to entertain their dearest guests.”

A few days prior to the banquet the duke asked Geralt to kill a cockatrice that was terrorizing his lands. However, no one told him that there were not _one_ , but _three_ vicious monsters in the area. When the witcher brought the nobleman the creatures’ heads that were still bleeding through the cloth of the sacks, he was, to Geralt’s surprise, not appalled by the sight, but utterly delirious. He even paid him more than he demanded for his work in the first place, to the witcher and bard’s joy. The duke was so grateful that he decided to hold a feast in honour of his saviour. At first Geralt wanted to refuse because winter was coming and he needed to leave for Kaer Morhen, but Jaskier persuaded him to stay, reminding him that they would not meet again in a long time, at least till spring. In the end, after the poet’s never ending pleas and exasperating whining, the witcher gave in. 

Now they were sitting in an impressively large banquet hall. It was already after midnight, but the light of the moon did not shine through the stained glass windows, as the sky was overcast with thick clouds. The room was only lit with countless candles on the tables and enormous golden chandeliers, glimmering dimly and creating a mysterious atmosphere. The tables were heaving with plates full of food. Empty dishes were quickly, almost instantly replaced with even more new ones. If his stomach was not already full, Geralt certainly would have tried something else, because, honestly, when else would he have another opportunity to eat this much again? Unfortunately, the only still free space was reserved for alcohol, just as in Jaskier’s stomach. 

The duke’s musicians were not so bad, but their music was definitely not as lively, and emotional, and full of feeling as Jaskier’s, though he would never admit it to the poet, even on his deathbed. As for the bard, he decided to take a break and drink a few gulps of wine after what seemed like endless performing and dancing. However, those who had taken his place were, apparently, not as good at entertaining guests as Jaskier was. Boredom was written all over their faces, especially on those of the not very many present young people who had been, perhaps, brought there by their noble parents. 

Jaskier had just put his empty glass on the table when one of the servants filled it again. Geralt gave him a pointed look, but the bard either didn’t notice or didn’t want to notice it, and, smiling mischievously, drank some of the alcohol. The poet froze with the glass against his scarlet wine-stained red lips, his eyes almost comically wide-open.

“Geralt,” he murmured, the witcher’s name barely audible even for the man’s excellent hearing, “I have never tried anything _this_ delicious in my entire life, and I am, my dearest friend, quite an expert in alcohol”. Geralt answered him with a skeptical ‘hm’. “I hear you say that on every banquet where they serve wines that cost more than five hundred crowns”. He raised his own glass of ale when suddenly Jaskier gripped his wrist, trying to put it back down on the table, but moving the witcher’s arm was as easy as moving a mountain with two bare human hands. A few drops of ale landed on the expensive pearl white tablecloth. “Try it,” insisted the bard, moving his glass towards his friend's face. Geralt scoffed and made a move to pull back, but Jaskier’s hand followed him: “Take the glass or I’ll spill the wine on your clothes”. The man reluctantly put his ale down and took the wine, swallowed a few drops and ‘hm’ed quietly, unwilling to admit that the drink was, indeed, not bad. Jaskier smirked triumphantly. “I’ll be right back,” he said, getting up from his chair and vanishing in the shadows of the columns. 

The bard came back with two new bottles of dark liquid. He heavily placed one of them on the very edge of the table, so Geralt had to catch it before it could turn into broken glass and a puddle of alcohol. Jaskier raised the second one to his mouth, took the cork out with a loud ‘pop’ and started drinking again, several crimson drops falling on his expensive attire.

“Enough,” said the witcher and pulled the bottle out of the bard’s hand. Nothing spilled, since it was already half-empty. “You haven’t finished with your performances” 

“Me being a teeny tiny bit tipsy does not mean that I can’t sing, Geralt. One doesn’t exclude the other,” answered Jaskier, his speech surprisingly more or less stable. He tried to snatch the bottle out of the witcher’s hand, lost balance and nearly fell from his seat, but Geralt caught him under his arm and helped him sit back. Bright red from both alcohol and embarrassment, the poet puffed his cheeks and turned away. The witcher put the bottle on the table farther away from his friend, but the bard had shifted his attention to the duke’s musicians and the bored guests, finally forgetting about the wine.

“If the majority of them weren’t members of the nobility, these poor laughingstocks would’ve already retreated to wash their ridiculous clothes from all the rotten tomatoes” 

“They aren’t doing that not because they are nobles, but because the tomatoes are too good to waste them like that,” said Geralt. Jaskier snorted. 

The poet spent a few more minutes looking at the guests. Then he shifted his gaze to one of the noblemen’s children and suddenly gasped, widening his eyes. “My dear friend, I know _exactly_ what they need!” Geralt, who returned to drinking his ale, quizzically raised his brow at the bard’s exclamation. 

Jaskier giggled.

“Remember that tavern, two weeks ago?” Geralt nodded, feeling that something bad was coming. “There were these children, singing their bawdy inappropriate songs. At first I thought: ‘what is the world coming to?’, with people making up something like _that_. But then I thought that it's good to change your repertoire from time to time, or else you might lose your audience. Of course I shouldn’t be worried about my music in this way, but it would be nice to attract new listeners, wouldn’t it? Even if the piece isn’t of _my_ creation and even if it is too dirty for me” Geralt thought to himself that nothing, perhaps, could be too dirty for _Jaskier_ , but didn’t say anything out loud. 

The bard grabbed his lute and rose from his seat, the legs of his chair squeaking loudly against the polished marble floor. Everyone in the hall turned to look in his directon. The musicians stopped playing. 

Suddenly, Geralt realized what the bard was talking about and nearly spit out his ale. “Jaskier, wait-“ But Jaskier wasn’t listening. He was tuning his lute while cheerfully heading towards the center of the hall, missing a few steps. The poet turned his head and winked at the witcher over his shoulder. Grealt slowly, _extremely_ slowly reached for the half-empty bottle of wine and equally slowly put it in Jaskier’s bag that was hanging on the bard’s abandoned chair. 

Jaskier stopped in the middle of the banquet hall with a clatter of the heels of his boots. He played a loud chord to draw the guests’ attention, as if it was not already on him. He slightly opened one of his eyes to make sure that everyone was watching him, closed it and broke into a sly smile. Geralt thought, involuntary, that if he believed in some god or goddess, he would have already prayed for the bard, more than once in the past thirty seconds. 

“Dear ladies and gentlemen!” Jaskier exclaimed, his smile still present on his face. “I see you are a bit bored, so why not brighten the dull atmosphere, what do you think?” The poet ran his hand over the strings of his lute. The guests exchanged excited whispers. Geralt sighed heavily, closed his eyes and prepared for the worst.

“Not so long ago, dear ladies and gentlemen, I heard a song. Not my style at all, quite vulgar but pretty popular, as far as I understand” the bard cleared his throat, moved his shoulders and straightened his back, keeping a pause. Everyone from the servants to the duke himself waited in anticipation.

Jaskier played the first chord. Geralt, recognizing the melody, immediately reached for the second bottle of wine while no one was watching

“ _Somebody come get her_ ,” sang Jaskier a bit shrilly, striking the strings, and loudly hiccupped in the pause between the lines, “ _she’s dancing like a STRIPPER_ ,” yelled the bard, after which he fell down on the floor like a sack of potatoes. 

The guests gasped in horror. The duke dropped his crystal glass. The younger guests, who, at first, froze in shock, chortled. Someone whistled. Geralt roughly shoved the second bottle in Jaskier’s bag, grabbed it and abruptly got up from his seat, heading towards the unconscious bard in long strides.

___

Geralt tumbled into the room, tripping over one of the floor boards, dropped Jaskier from his shoulder and shut the door with his back, sinking down against it. He could only hear the innkeeper swearing and some people talking loudly and laughing downstairs. The witcher slowly got a few strands of his white hair out of his face, then put his head back and guffawed. On the floor, Jaskier grumbled something inarticulate. 

___

It was now early in the morning. Jaskier and Geralt were preparing for their departure in the stables. The witcher was fixing his saddle on Roach while the bard was sulking beside his own horse. “What can I say,” Geralt felt the poet’s exasperated glare on himself and wanted to laugh again “It’s good that after all these years practically nothing can ruin your impeccable reputation” the man snorted. Jaskier poked the witcher with his elbow, but the man didn’t stop grinning. “Besides, you _did_ attract new listeners. Youngsters like you” Geralt winked at Jaskier over his shoulder and almost giggled. The bright red bard sharply turned away, looking very much offended. Geralt took Roach by the bridle and walked her outside. Jaskier followed him. 

“If you haven’t seen yet, I got you that wine from yesterday, both bottles. In your bag” Jaskier, widening his eyes in surprise, opened it. Geralt jumped into his saddle. 

“Try not to make new enemies while I’m away” the poet rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort, but Geralt spurred Roach and the horse started to slowly pick up speed.

“See you, Jaskier!” the witcher waved his hand at the bard and rushed to the North, towards winter. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for reading this small work of mine. I apologize if there are punctuation mistakes, I'm not a native English speaker and, unfortunately, we haven't studied this topic in my university yet. I hope that you still liked and enjoyed it. Thanks again!


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